My Reviews & Blog
Go to http://www.bongojohn.net for all things Bongo ! Over 80 mp3s absolutely free for download (stream or right click~save as), as well as drum videos, pics, and poems...
Best Regards,
"Bongo" John
Frozen in celluloid
Rendezvous down by the seaside
Not the paranoid android
In you I confide
Under the bullhorn that warned:
“Get out of the waves! Get out of the water!”
War-torn and severely scorned
As the negotiation barely bought her
Or so such souls sought
A hungry puppy lost…
What a blast, we were escaping
Premonitions of an omega destiny
Of the record, dark souls were taping
Together conspiracies for emotional entropy
You left your moccasins in the sands of time
Enraptured in your embrace
Encompassed rhythm, reason, and rhyme
Red Rose Bed
Red Rose Bed
Getting there with the Blue Devil’s rain
Making pointy ears somewhere along Johnson lane
Three-for-one butter better at the grocery stores
From a thousand sparks of magic carousel doors
If six was nine we’d be on time
At Terrapin gate with our delirium
You are nobody’s only bride
Your mystery is not amiss
I’ve seen time stop with a man in mid-step
I’ve seen space like a dog agog
If you had a dime for every time I thought of you
You could buy a stairway to heaven’s hue
I’ve worn shoes like a braver Brian Wilson
The Ghost of Mary Time
A pretty good year
for someone who can be cruel
to the party girl
fighting for her monster
in the distance
she swirls her fingers
in the raspberry pudding
Accounting for every shoe
Still on the ground walking
Yet haunting with your Viking Gauntlet
With a scarf, a thorn in your side
Like Mohammed
To Mary who knew Mary
What was it we were thinking of?
Playing at trains, these secret worlds collide
This Great Wall between…
Beguine and suburbia
What cloud was I on?
The Queen of Flood Street neglected Lucy in the Midwest in the windy sunrise,
who had lost her good graces when mother wasn’t around
She sought to explain the starship trooper’s strategic placement of the bullhorn
and the banana peel
He was a westerly man who had confronted
the cloud-busting machine,
Mr. Ed’s barn,
a footprint in cement that fit to-a-tea,
and a train’s path
lost tracks of thought,
carrying endless packages of desires for her love
on a routine early morning schedule
No horsing around beside the black & white TV pushed into a dumpster

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